


your hand forever's all i want

by tidesong



Category: The Guild Codex: Demonized - Annette Marie
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Post canon, inaccurate depictions of real estate, inspired by epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tidesong/pseuds/tidesong
Summary: She thinks that they both need a little reminder every now and then, some more practice being someone’s somebody.—Robin buys a house. Zylas makes it a home.
Relationships: Robin Page/Zylas et Vh'alyir
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	your hand forever's all i want

**Author's Note:**

> title is a line taken from don't take the money by bleachers.

Robin thinks about buying a house three months after she turns twenty-two.

It’s the kind of thought that hits her out of nowhere, like a drop of rain from a clear sky. It’s unobtrusive, at first—as they usually are—and she pushes it to the back of her mind without much effort. After that, it’s easy to forget that she’s ever thought about it at all when she’s digging her toes into the sand of a beach in Kauai with the sun on her face and ocean breeze in her hair. It’s even easier to let herself stop thinking when she hikes up the cliffs of the Na Pali coastline because the sight of the Pacific below her is enough to take her breath away. And when Zylas pulls her close and kisses her as they watch the sunset burn crimson and gold at the top of Waimea Canyon, Robin doesn’t think of anything at all. 

But that’s the thing about thoughts—they resurface when you least expect them to. Two weeks pass by too quickly for her liking and Robin is forced to face reality again when it’s time for her flight back to Vancouver. She watches movies and entertains herself with Zylas’ commentary to pass the time but even that isn’t enough to block out the tiny, nagging feeling in the back of her mind. It follows her out of the plane and into the cab ride back to her apartment; Robin unlocks the door with one hand and stares at the space she shared with Zylas for the past year.

Maybe that had been the problem: she was never home enough to make anything a home. Robin didn’t spend more than a week in one place before jetting off again. More than half of the furniture she’d gotten back from her parents’ storage unit still sat packed in boxes. What she’d managed to unpack was scattered wherever there was available space, no method to the madness. The whole apartment looked like a means to an end, the interim for her travels until she left and the cycle started anew. She thinks of Amalia’s offhand comment, spoken one day when she’d brought Socks over, _you live like you’re just passing through_. 

Money wasn’t an issue. Robin has an entire spreadsheet compilation devoted to her monthly and yearly budgets that she’d set for herself. She’d tried explaining it to Zylas once, but he’d cocked his head at her, not understanding. _It’s just money,_ na _?_ he’d said, brows raised like it was the most obvious thing in the world. _You can’t take it with you when you die_. As much as Robin had wanted to argue with him, he was right about one thing: she had more money than she’d ever seen in her life. Enough to have ownership of her future, or something like that. Maybe Taylor Swift was onto something about feeling twenty-two.

In the end, she ends up thinking about it so much that Zylas picks up on it. She’d been bracing herself for him to call her _zh’ūltis_ for overthinking, but he only looks at her one night, ruby eyes bright against the shadows cast by city lights across his face.

“ _Amavrah_ ,” Zylas says slowly, pulling her close to his chest. His next words are muffled as he buries his nose into her hair, breathing deeply. “But we have a home, _na_?”

There’s confusion in his voice—not that she could blame him. Their apartment unit had enough traces of both of them in it; from her compilation of non-magical and magical books, Zylas’ collection of lava lamps that reminded him of _Ahlēavah_ , and their combined assortment of souvenirs that were steadily taking over most of the space on their coffee table. What more could she want? 

Robin thinks of her childhood home and all the memories she’d made with her parents. It was somewhere she’d planted roots and grew. Only this time, it could be a new beginning for her. Maybe this could be her chance to build something else from the ground up, something she could finally call hers. 

_With me?_ The thought is quiet and fleeting; it disappears almost as instantly the second Zylas thinks it. If their relationship was anything like it was a year ago when she’d actively chosen to shield herself away from him, she never would’ve caught it. 

_Yes_ , she thinks fiercely. _With you_. She can feel his momentary surprise through their bond, a thin sliver of heightened emotion that makes her heart clench.

He doesn’t say anything else, but she hears what goes unsaid by the way he wraps his arms around her a little tighter.

Robin lets him. 

She thinks that they both need a little reminder every now and then, some more practice being someone’s somebody.

* * *

Robin turns to Uncle Jack first. She figures that he should know best, given his rather extensive record of purchasing and repurposing property. She calls him on a Saturday and he answers on the fourth ring. If he is surprised at her sudden interest in Real Estate, he doesn’t show it. He gives her enough good tips and pointers to fill a page of notes until there’s a pause on the other end of the line, like he was carefully choosing his next words. “It’s all about location,” Uncle Jack finally says. “Location, location, location.”

She texts Zora next; the reply is almost instantaneous. The first and only piece of advice that she gets is short and succinct: _in-unit washer and dryer. thank me later_. A heartbeat after, _looking forward to the housewarming party_. Robin sends a winky face and a wine emoji in reply.

Amalia just shrugs. Her cousin has always been more interested in the interior of a house rather as a whole, and her high rise shows it: the studio looks cozy-chic, straight out of a Pinterest board. Robin can see the downtown skyline in the back of the video call, city lights blinking into existence. “Space,” her cousin suggests after a beat. “Lots of space. Maybe something with an open floor plan.”

Zylas doesn’t say much. There wasn’t an equivalent in _Ahlēavah_ , he’d said. Demons didn’t linger too long in one place in fear of being hunted. But still, he sits next to her on their couch when she’s browsing on Redfin and Zillow, answering her questions when she asks for his opinion. He doesn’t call her _mailēshta_ or _taridis_ when she talks to herself, broadcasting her internal debate when she’s narrowing down choices. He’s there for her when she feels like she’s about to internally combust from a week of back to back research, soothing the tension in her muscles. And when the days bleed into nights, he’s the one who carries her back to bed when she’s too exhausted from typing out pages of notes.

She reaches for him one night, right after he settles in the bed right beside her. A part of her feels guilty for neglecting him while she’d thrown herself into house hunting, but he silences her apology before it even leaves her lips with a brush of his thumb.

Zylas cradles her cheek and draws her closer until they’re face to face. He kisses her, soft and slow, until she pulls away for air. He bumps his nose with hers and there’s a smile in his voice when he speaks.

“Anything for you, _amavrah_.”

* * *

By the time she gets to the fifth and final house, Robin is ready to call it quits. She’s not physically exhausted, per se, but rather mentally and emotionally. She’d forgotten how _exhausting_ normal human interaction could be when the only people she’d talked to on a regular basis were Zylas and Amalia.

She finds out that the agent—Maggie, she’d introduced herself in a rush of polite smiles and cool handshakes—is a talker. Robin learns that the house has been recently renovated two years before and that the neighborhood is one of the safest in Hastings-Sunrise. The closest park is five blocks away and the school is even closer. There are multiple supermarkets and local shops within a one-mile radius along with plenty of community areas if she’s into socializing with her future neighbors. 

Robin is more than happy to let Maggie take the reins of the conversation, filing her mental list of questions away for later. Zylas’ presence is a live wire in her mind, alert and ready to grasp whatever information she sent his way.

She lets Maggie lead her through the connected living room and kitchen and into the three bedrooms and two bathrooms in the house, pointing out what had been renovated and what had remained. 

“The washer and dryer units can be installed in the attached two-car garage,” Maggie informs her when she asks. “Follow me and I’ll show you.” 

Robin dutifully follows Maggie out to the garage, giving the space the appropriate appraisal before moving on to the connected patio and garden. 

“This area was also recently remodeled,” her agent explains, waving her arms around the flagstone patio. “There is a built-in fire pit over in that corner for all your entertainment purposes.”

Maggie is still rambling on about the merits of hosting parties on the state-of-the-art patio but it all fades into white noise as she takes in the view of the garden and the sliver of blue from Vancouver Harbor in the distance. It’s not much, but there’s more nature here than in any of the apartments she’d lived in over the past year. It reminds her so much of her childhood home that it almost hurts. 

Robin can see it now, right there in her mind’s eye, watching sunrises with Zylas out here every morning. She imagines watching shades of pink and purple bleed into cobalt, light chasing away the night, everything renewing in the horizon, edged in gold. 

The words are on the tip of her tongue before she remembers to reach out to Zylas. She hears his laughter, low and smooth and rich, before she can even complete the question.

 _Don’t worry,_ amavrah _. I like it_.

She turns to Maggie and clears her throat, plastering her best smile on her face. When Robin finally has the agent’s complete attention, she decides to take that leap of faith right then and there.

“I’d like to make an offer.” 

* * *

Robin gets tipsy at her housewarming party despite her best attempts not to be. She had bought a cheese and charcuterie board and the first bottle of wine that popped up after she’d googled _best wine to drink with cheese_ , but she hadn’t counted on Zora bringing a sixer over.

She also wasn’t prepared for her cousin to drag what must’ve been a bag full of alcohol fit for a frat party through her front door. 

Oh god, she was so tipsy.

“No, Robin,” Amalia says, giving her a once-over in the kitchen. “You’re drunk.”

Oh, crap. Did she say that out loud? Robin fills a glass of water from the sink and glares at her cousin. Amalia doesn’t notice; her attention redirected to the cocktail she was trying to make. 

“I’m not drunk,” Robin insists, hauling a chair up and leaning into the counter. And she really isn’t. The lights definitely do not seem brighter, and she’s warm because the kitchen window is open in the middle of August. There was no way a person could be drunk off beer and two shots of tequila. She’d known what her limits were ever since Amalia’s birthday party. “I didn’t even have a lot.” 

Amalia doesn’t even look up from mixing rum and lime juice. “There’s no shame in being a lightweight.”

Robin is ready to let her know exactly what she thought of that statement, but any retort she has for her cousin is cut off by a hiccup. 

Unfortunately, Amalia _does_ look up at that sound, but Robin is already marching out of the kitchen before the embarrassment ate her up.

She passes by Zylas and Drew standing in the far corner of the living room, where the former was introducing the latter to his bookshelf full of lava lamps. Robin slows down her walk just enough to catch the tail end of a conversation.

“Wow, I haven’t seen these in a while,” Drew says, peering at one with blue and orange blobs floating around. “They’re like, ancient.”

Zylas blinks and taps another one that was neon green. “But I am older than them.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Robin leaves them to their discussion and heads to the patio where Zora, Felix, Venus, and Uncle Jack were cleaning up the remains of dinner. She hears herself ask if they needed any help, but Zora makes multiple shooing motions with her hands. 

Robin wanders down the steps of the patio to the back garden, no real destination in mind. She lies down on the freshly cut grass and closes her eyes, letting the evening summer breeze cool her skin.

She senses Zylas’ presence soon after, footsteps light and measured as he makes his way over. Her eyes are still closed when he sits down right behind her and tugs her head so that it’s pillowed in his lap. Robin feels his fingers trace her jaw, leaving little wildfires in their wake.

“Amalia said that you are drunk and I should watch you,” Zylas says. His voice is a low rumble and she feels the vibrations down to her bones. There’s a long pause after, like he’s debating his next words. “She said that I should watch you or else you would act like how you did at her birthday party.”

Robin feels his chest shake and her mind belatedly realizes that he’s laughing. She’s ready to argue that at least she wasn’t the one who ended up dancing on top of a table—that was all _Amalia_ —but it dies in her throat the second she opens her eyes and sees Zylas peering down at her, face framed by the golden halo of a late July sunset. 

She realizes that he’s smiling at her, that soft, secret little smile that made his eyes crinkle around the corners and her heart does a funny kind of flip. 

Robin reaches a hand up, cupping the nape of his neck to bring his face down to hers until there are only a few inches of space between them. She breathes in and it is all him; hickory and woodsmoke, the heat of a summer night. 

“You should smile more,” she says, almost half to herself. At this point maybe she really _is_ a little drunk because the words come tumbling out like ocean waves against shore. 

“I like your smile,” she continues, more than acutely aware of the gravity of Zylas’ gaze on her, twin pools of crimson pulling her in as if she could ever look away. Robin reaches for his hand with hers, lacing their fingers together. She memorizes this sight, the way he looks at her, like how she’s everything and everywhere at once. He squeezes her hand and she hopes he will never let go. 

Her next words are so soft that even she has difficulty hearing through the pleasant cloud of fog that has suddenly taken up residence in her brain. 

“I like it because you don’t show it to anyone else.”

* * *

Zylas gets restless sometimes.

She can tell when he’s in one of his moods when he wakes up and he’s a jumble of energy, ready to get up and conquer the day. She doesn’t blame him one bit. For a demon who had been used to being up and moving at all hours of the day, being sedentary was against his nature.

So, Robin comes up with the only solution she can think of.

She takes him running. 

Or the more accurate description: she jogged while he ran laps in the park near their house. When they grow bored of the scenery, she trails him as they run parallel to the harbor, treating themselves to a glorious view of the sunrise above the water. 

And after, she shows him the rest of the city as the days trickle by. Robin pretends that she’s a tourist again, visiting all of the places she’d once sworn to avoid because she didn’t want to be among people willing to wait in line for hours for an attraction, nor did she want to pay an exorbitant amount of money for the latest food trend. But she finds that she doesn’t mind when she brings Zylas around, enjoying his unbridled curiosity over everything in the _hh’ainun_ world. She’d brought him to explore, but now she realizes that she’s also learning new things right beside him. Funny how you can spend so much time in a place without ever really knowing it. 

Robin decides that she likes this feeling, of having the whole city at her fingertips. Perhaps that was what she had been missing so long ago—the feeling of someone’s hand in hers, pulling her towards the next adventure.

* * *

Robin finds herself in the garden center of her local Home Depot more as a force of habit rather than necessity. Her mom had always loved gardening in the backyard of her childhood home and she tells Zylas this as he trails behind her into the greenhouse, wrinkling his nose at the scent of fertilizer. 

She leads him around the perimeter of the space, peering at the selection of perennials and mentally picturing which ones would best compliment the patio. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Zylas gravitating towards the section of trees in the corner. 

“Why do they all look the same?” he asks as she walks over. Leave it to Zylas to make a question sound so accusatory. 

“They’re only saplings,” she replies, but quickly amends when his expression doesn’t change. “Baby trees. They’ll look different when they’re older.”

“ _Hnn_. What kind of trees are they?”

Robin looks around, eyes falling to a tag half-hidden in the leaves.

“This is an orange tree,” she reads. Her hands find another tag in the sapling right next to it. “And the one right next to it is an apple tree. So, fruit trees.”

“Fruit,” he repeats after her. There is a mischievous glint in his eyes and he flashes her a sharp grin. “Will you give me more fruit this time, _amavrah_?” His voice is husky and low; he smirks at the growing flush on her cheeks. He’s standing way too close to be publicly acceptable all of a sudden, cornering her against the shelf of saplings.

A year ago, she would’ve pushed him away for daring to get this close to her. But now, she’s never been more sure of herself when she grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down with a sudden rush of boldness, holding his surprised gaze in a silent challenge. 

“Or maybe,” she says slowly, deliberately, lips barely brushing over his in the palest imitation of a kiss, “this time you can feed me.”

Her words have the intended effect; he kisses her in earnest then, mouth slanting over hers in a frenzied movement that was best reserved back at home and not in the slightly humid greenhouse that reeked of fertilizer. 

“Whenever you want, _amavrah_.” Zylas pulls away, echoing the same words he’d spoken to her a lifetime ago when she’d first offered her heart to him. “We can get all of the trees.” 

* * *

Zylas becomes invested in painting. She supposes that it was bound to happen one day or another when she encourages him to find a hobby and he just so happens to discover Bob Ross when she’d given him her laptop with the tab set to YouTube.

She’d had to explain to him how paint worked at first but after that, he takes to it like a duck to water. He puts his eidetic memory to good use when he paints all the places that they’ve been to, from the very first mountain in Oregon to the rainforests of Venezuela down to the very last detail. Soon, it’s not an uncommon sight to see him in the living room with the windows blown wide open, mouth set in a determined line as he paints. Robin is almost jealous of how effortless he makes it look, how he looks like he’s been painting his entire life with the ease and efficiency that he finishes his pieces. 

“Who knows,” Amalia says the next time she comes over with Socks in tow. “Maybe one day they could be worth millions.”

When he’s not painting, Robin discovers that Zylas also has an affinity for sketching. She begins to notice that he’s staring at her a lot more, in that way that he looks at her when he thinks that she’s not looking and when she’s pretending not to notice. It used to be unnerving to be on the other end of his gaze, but now all she feels is burning curiosity.

He doesn’t display his drawings the same way he does with his paintings; she catches glimpses every now and then when he flips through his sketches. Robin gets her chance one day after she’d baked him cookies and he’d lapsed into a sugar coma on the sofa. His open sketchbook is lying innocently across the coffee table and Robin takes a peek at it because well, what was the harm?

The first half of the pages are filled with plants and birds from their garden or detailed scenes from the city. As she flips on; however, it changes to portraits of _her_. She’s there, drawn on those pages, sipping coffee at her favorite Midtown cafe and baking cookies in the kitchen, squinting at her measuring cups with an expression of concentration she wasn’t even aware she had. 

Robin stops at one particular drawing, dated back in August. She’s standing against a railing, face turned upwards and towards the distance with a look of unbridled elation that she doesn’t have to think very hard to place that particular memory. 

She’d taken Zylas down to West End that night, intent on showing him the fireworks over English Bay. She’d gone every summer with her parents before—well, _everything—_ and it was easier to show him what fireworks were instead of simply explaining what they were. It was also more for her benefit to have Zylas there with her; he’d done a good job at making sure no one bumped into her in that crowd with his arms looped around her shoulders. 

It’s also not very hard to remember what she’d been thinking about at that moment. She’d been ridiculously happy that night, drunk off the euphoria of witnessing one of her favorite events with the person she’d loved the most in the world. 

Zylas had pulled her to his chest, leaning in so close she could feel his smile against her skin. And when the world had erupted into color, she’d been thinking that it was moments like these that would withstand the test of time, lasting forever or until the end of all things.

* * *

They decide to start traveling again two months before she turns twenty-three. 

She’d looked at Zylas one morning, right after their morning run at the park. Robin could see her breath in the air and feel the cold reclaim the heat from her skin on the walk back to their house. 

It felt weird to breach the topic of traveling again. They’ve settled into the routine of domesticity just fine and she’s ninety percent sure that between the both of them, no one wanted to bring up the fact that they were weeks overdue for a trip. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Zylas says, breaking her out of her thoughts. At that admission, Robin nearly trips. 

“But I promised we would see all the places in your book,” she protests. “We haven’t been doing that lately.”

“I know,” Zylas says as they cross the street. “But we have time. And I know you keep your promises. So we don’t need to rush.”

Robin blinks, uncomprehending. “It’s just been a while and—”

Zylas shrugs before taking her hand in his. “We can travel whenever. There is no timeline for that. If you want to spend some more time in our house, we can. If we want to go out and see the world tomorrow, we can also do that.”

She spends the rest of the walk home thinking it over in her head. Well, he had a point. Vancouver was cold in the winter. Maybe it really was time to head somewhere warmer. There were plenty of beaches in Zylas’ photography book that they could choose from. 

They stop on their front porch as Robin digs into her pocket for her keys before unlocking the door. Before she can walk inside; however, Zylas leans down and cups her face, touching her forehead to his.

“Every day is a new adventure with you, _amavrah_. Wherever we are.”

She doesn’t bother to fight her smile when he smirks and pulls her in.  
  
  
  



End file.
